


All Is Violent, All Is Bright

by Coiren



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Artist Steve Rogers, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky gives advices, Depression, Greece, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, Loneliness, M/M, Memories, Mental Health Issues, Photography, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Dancing, Small Towns, Steve lives in a caravan, Suicidal Thoughts, Swimming, a lot of pain but also a lot of hope, actually all of this is just bucky's memories, beautiful views too, internalized shame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coiren/pseuds/Coiren
Summary: Bucky writes about how he lost faith in life, and then how he learned to walk around this world anew. Because in Greece the sun was warmer, time was slower, and there was something in Steve Rogers' eyes what reminded him that not everything was lost.And to those who can hear me, I say - do not despair.





	All Is Violent, All Is Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, wanderers.  
> This fic has form of letters or notes, whatever you like to call that. It's just Bucky writting down his memories. This story will be short (probably) but I think that there is no need to make it longer. I just want you to watch the tags and have a good time reading this. And I apologize for my shitty english - it's not my first language, so not everything will be perfect, but I tried my best, I promise.

 

 _I see water blue like the sky_  
_and transparent as a glass_  
_the exploding universe above_  
_and a rough ground below us_

 _And we enter the water - completely tired_  
_like lone wolves, swallows in the rain_  
_we are dreamers, yet awoken_  
_when we float on a cool surface_  
  
_Lips are covered and ears are flooded_  
_when we listen to a silent howl of sea_  
_we look at soft and white clouds_  
_just like innocent children's pillowslips_

 _Between them, like a stain of paint_  
_the sun - the only sign of the old world_  
_it was frozen, and then it burned again_  
_just like us; the summer before._

 

 

* * *

 

 

I remember, even before I set my foot on the soft (and hot as hell) Greek sand, I thought that this life I was given was not a gift at all. I remember waking up in sweaty, worn out clothes on a bed that was too soft. I remember every morning when I couldn't get up, although I wanted so badly. I remember phantom hand pains as clearly as I remember the cold metal prosthesis. There were days when I didn't recognize my reflection - I saw only a pale body, absent eyes and pupils, from which bitterness was pouring out.  
I swear, I will never forget it, it's something that can't be simply erased from memory. Those days and those nights seemed to go on forever - a cycle a loop a ritual - I slept until my body became numb. Later, in those moments when it was better, almost normal, I tried to get my shit toghether. Sometimes it seemed to me that I love everyone, and in my heart there is a place for many people, many beautiful loves. In other times it was quite the opposite; I did not care about the presence of others, I watched them as if behind a glass. Ongoing movie, nothing more.  
However, I consider the worst moments were when I didn't want anything from the world. I didn't want to sleep, eat, read, watch stupid TV shows, wash myself or change my clothes. I _did not_ want to live and, paradoxically, I did not want to die. Everything in me screamed, bristled, hesitated. I had to run, run, run, but I didn't have strength in my legs.

It was the worst time in my life, this depression, a black dog that was walking by my leg. I dropped the photography, even if I loved to capture the good moments on the pictures. I lost my job. Somewhere in the back of the head there was the thought that it was not worth living any longer.  
I didn't shoot myself in the head, as everyone expected. I booked tickets to Greece, I flew there. Last chance for salvation. I was looking at those calm people, at pretty towns, a time that was pouring through my fingers like sand. It was weird to slow down if you had been teached to run since you were a child.  
I was lying on the sand for hours and, I promise, sometimes I wanted to drown in it, fill my lungs with tiny grains. There, in Greece, on a beautiful beach, among the roar of the waves and the screams of seagulls. It would be a poetic death, maybe they would write nicely about me, maybe I would leave behind me more than a disgust.

And later he found me. Or I found him. It didn't matter. Steve, because that was his name, made me realize that happiness is the simplicity of this world. Coffee in the morning. The smell of flowers, the softness of the pillow. The warmth emanating from the dog, which hugs to our side. Happiness is people who have been, are and will be. Maybe my little Way of the Cross was necessary for me to understand it.  
It is not that I was magically healed. There are still days so stifling and dark that it seems to me that I am in hell. I try, I really try to change it. I take medication, I go to therapy and I moan how badly I feel. It's becoming easier for me. And I'm starting to see that at the end of this damn road is something that calls me with a warm voice. So I'm going, maybe not upraight, but I'm going. 

I would like to talk about what I've experienced, what I've learned, because I know that there are more people who are standing at a crossroads and have no idea what to do. It is a story about love (oh god, how pathetically it sounds) with many faces and definitions.

Shit, let's just move on. This introduction is getting long, more and more sentimental. However, I have a weakness for these memories.  
And to those who can hear me, I say - do not despair*.

 

James Buchanan Barnes (but I prefer Bucky)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * quote from The Great Dictator.  
> Poem is mine.


End file.
